Tag Archives: Seth Singleton

Seth and Aiden, I hope one day you stumble upon this and read it, and realize that what you are going through is not your fault. You were always both good kids, and you are both growing into strong and intelligent young men with good hearts, and I am very proud of you. Your sister Haley misses you both very much, and she hopes very much that she can be reunited with you one day.

As for me, I am broken. I can’t fight anymore. You have both been on my mind and in my heart every single day. While I cherish my memories of you, missing you has been almost unbearable. My grief and longing for my sons has consumed me, every single day. I can’t go on like this anymore. I have to try to put it away and focus on other things. I have to learn how to accept that you are gone, and get back to living my life. My door and my heart will always be open to both of you. Please believe that I don’t blame you for any of this, and I’m so sorry for what you’ve had to go through. I am also sorry for the mistakes I have made along the way, and I hope you can find peace and healing from the hurts I have caused by failing you.

Remember to be kind and forgiving to each other. The turmoil, strife, and distance between you two is not because of who you are, but because you have been played against each other. Don’t let the fact that you are treated differently drive a wedge between you. You are brothers, and you are both my sons, no matter what. I love you both – yesterday, today, and always.

With love from your father,

Walter Singleton

PS: Should you ever decide to see me, I will be in Orlando, like always, and not hard to find. You can look me up on the Orange County Clerk website, https://myeclerk.myorangeclerk.com/Cases/Search , and find the name of my lawyer, who can put you in contact with me. Also, if you ever find yourselves in trouble, please seek me out. My door will always be open to you, and I will do whatever I can to help you.

I went to a funeral a short time ago. While nearly all funerals are sad, this one was particularly heartbreaking, as the deceased had passed away suddenly, unexpectedly, and at a relatively young age. A mother, still in the prime of middle age, was taken without warning. A large and loving family had gathered from all over the United States to grieve the passing of a woman that they all had fond memories of. Although I didn’t know the woman at all, it was obvious that she would be missed by a great many people.

While I sat and watched the family pour out their grief during the funeral, and then later the burial, a strange emotion came over me. It was an emotion I would have never expected to feel at a funeral, and it took me some time to identify it. It was envy. I felt envious of the family that had gathered to mourn the loss of someone they loved so much. I felt ashamed of this emotion at first, and I tried to bury it. I was there to support someone who had lost a close family member, this was not the time to be focused on myself. But later on, once I was alone, I began to reflect on what I had felt, and more importantly, why.

I obviously didn’t envy the family for losing a loved one. I have many people in my life whom I love dearly, and I would not want to lose any of them. I have had loved ones die, and I certainly did not want that to happen to again. What I envied was not their grief, but rather that they were able to express it. My sons are gone. Not dead, but just… gone. They are gone from my life, and the lives of my family. When my wife filed false allegations against me, and took my children from me, it was emotionally devastating. It was a horrible feeling, a great loss, and it was very painful, but it didn’t feel like death, with its shock and finality and hopelessness – at least, not at first.

Unlike with death, there were moments of brief hope. For five long years, every event was a chance at getting my sons back into my life. Every time I went to court, I believed the judge would hear my story, and award me time with my children. When I was finally awarded visitation, I believed I would see them again. When my wife hit me with her car, I thought for sure she would be charged, and I would be able to hug my kids. When my wife burned down her house, and the arson report concluded that she had done it, I thought surely something would change. When my daughter was taken from my wife by Child Protective Services, and I spent nearly a year EARNING her back from foster care, I believed that the authorities would force my wife to reunite both of us with the boys. But each and every time I was disappointed. And slowly, creeping up more and more each day, the feeling that they were dead formed like a malignant tumor, growing inside my heart.

Now, it feels like my sons are dead. I know that they are not, but they have been removed from my life as surely as if they were placed in wooden boxes and lowered into the ground. No voices, no pictures, no word of what they doing has come my way. I don’t even know what they look like today. I know from letters that were sent to the judge, and from what my daughter has told me, that they hate me. They believe I am a terrible person, and that they want nothing to do with me. This is all so different from the relationship we had before. I was once their hero, their confidant, their champion – I was their father. The last time I saw Aiden he was sick, but he insisted on spending time with me, even though he felt awful. The last time I saw Seth, I held him while he cried in my arms, as I tried to console his fears about his parents splitting up. Now, in their minds, I am dangerous, a cancer – someone to avoid at all costs. Such has my wife poisoned their minds and hearts against me.

Everything I knew about my sons is gone. Our relationship no longer exists. The children they once were no longer exist. It has been five years now – they are both approaching 15 years of age, well into their teens. To me, they are still nine years old, frozen in my mind at the age I last saw them. But the children I knew have grown up, and every connection I had with them has been severed. Even if we were reunited tomorrow, nothing that we once had has been preserved – we would have to start our relationship from scratch. I have lost my sons.

Throughout history, our society has developed ways of dealing with grief. We have a funeral for the deceased. We tell stories of fond memories with them. We look at photographs of the ones we’ve lost, and we remember the joy they brought to our lives. We pour out our grief, and those around us acknowledge the loss, and they comfort us. Then, as the final gesture, we lower a casket into the ground, or present an urn of ashes to the family. The survivors go through the stages of denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance. And often there is a stone at the final resting place, a marker of the one who has been removed from our lives. I will see none of that.

I will not get to hear others laugh telling stories of my sons, or cry over how much they will be missed. I will not be able to gather my family together in mourning, and watch a collage of photographs showing their lives. I will not see a casket lowered into the ground, or hold an urn, as a tangible reminder that my sons are gone. I will never allow myself to fully reach acceptance, because no matter how distant and dim hope becomes, it is always there, taunting me, just out of my reach. Instead of bringing comfort, that hope has become a hand in the graveyard, reaching up from the ground and grasping my ankle, holding me there. There is no plaque in the ground, no marble headstone, nothing to indicate the day my sons were taken from me. My great loss is invisible and unacknowledged.

Another thing that makes male victims different from female victims is how they often respond to maternal abuse. While female victims of neglectful, emotionally and mentally abusive mothers often sympathize with, or even ‘defend’, their mothers actions, male victims often display a very UNIQUE set of characteristics that hint to the abusive behavior. Read more here:

This was taken from a post by Time to Put Kids First, at http://timetoputkidsfirst.org/ . Although the words are not originally mine, they read directly from my heart.

“I’m not ashamed of the false allegations made against me, or of the threats, the restraining orders, or even the jail time I served because of my ex. In times of darkness when I feel like a failure as a parent because I am not ALLOWED to parent, those things make me remember what a great father I truly am! Though I can’t be with them, I have done, and will continue to do, everything in my power to be a part of their lives. Not everyone could live through so much.”

These words speak to me, because I have been through everything listed here. I was once ashamed of all this. When the false allegations were first made, I was deeply ashamed of them. When a person is accused of something so heinous, it is difficult not to FEEL guilty, even when you’re innocent. I had made my share of parenting mistakes, and when the false accusations came, every one of those mistakes seemed magnified 100x. I condemned myself over and over. I found myself confessing to the smallest infractions to anyone who would listen, trying to rid myself of the guilty feelings. I felt like others believed the accusations as well, and I wanted to hide, to just disappear. I found it difficult to trust anyone, even my closest family and friends.

After that, the guilt of not being able to protect my children from what was happening to them set in. In my mind, a father should be able to protect his children from anything. I felt that it was my responsibility to protect them, no matter what the courts or the cops said. I spent two weeks in jail after trying to see my daughter. It took months of therapy to finally accept that I had to release myself of the burden of protecting my children, because legally I could not. I still don’t know if I have fully accepted that this failure is not my fault. Even though I faced a mountain of lies and legal judgements, with the might of the police force to back them up, I still sometimes ask myself, “What kind of father am I to let some stranger tell me I can’t talk to my children?”.

But I am healing. I am releasing that responsibility. I am accepting that I am a good father, and I deserve to see my children, even though I am being prevented from it. Every day I spend with my daughter proves to me that I am a worthy parent. And I am no longer ashamed. I do not own those lies – my ex does. And I will not hide any longer. The truth is on my side. The courts do not know what is in the best interests of my children, I do. And I will never stop fighting for them, whether they know it or not.

I’d like to reminisce a little bit today. This weekend I was given a picture that was taken a long time ago. It was Seth’s adoption photo. In it are many people my children will recognize. Starting from the left, they would be familiar with their mother’s parents, Cheryl and Romeo Gil, with their Uncle Steven standing behind them. Then comes Seth, being held by me. He was so small! But even at that size, he had a big personality. Their now adopted sister Haley is standing in front of me. Hard to believe she was once that short; she is as tall as I am now! I suspect she will eventually be taller than me.

Next to Haley is her brother Charles, who we were also fostering at the time. I don’t know how much they would remember of Charles, since he was removed from the home when I was away at Basic Training, shortly after this picture was taken. Jenn accused Charles of some pretty awful things. In light of what happened to Haley and me, I have to wonder if any of those things were true. It seems just as likely now that Jenn simply did not like Charles, and wasn’t able to parent him in the controlling manner she preferred. I suspect she made up those horrible things about Charles, so that he would be removed from our home “for the safety of the family”. I’m sure that would sound familiar to Aiden and Seth. I wonder who will be next?

Then we have Jenn holding Aiden. Aiden was so happy to be gaining a brother! I hope he’s just as happy about it now. I’m glad they are still together, at least. Behind Jenn is the judge who granted Seth’s adoption to myself and Jenn. Standing next to Jenn is my mother, who the kids called “Grandma Jane”. She misses Aiden and Seth almost as much as I do. She was thrilled to finally be able to talk to Haley again after so much time, and I know she’ll be just as excited to talk to her grandsons one day. Finally behind Grandma Jane is my Aunt Anna, and her daughter Peggy. Haley was finally able to see them this past weekend.

At one time this family was all together. While we lived in different places, there was nothing stopping any of us from picking up a phone and calling, or making a trip to see another part of the family. At the very least, the children had unfettered access to all of their extended family. I knew that Jenn and I separating was going to be difficult and painful no matter what, my intention was that it be as easy as possible on the children. Our marriage may have been broken, but there was no need for the children to lose so many people who loved them. I know I would have swallowed my pride so that they would still have their entire family. It’s hard to believe that one person could cause so much unnecessary pain. It is my greatest wish that ALL of my children will be able to see ALL of their family again one day.

Seth, Haley, and Aiden with their Uncle Scott. He misses the boys very much as well.

Well, today I feel stuck. Just absolutely stuck. The pain of missing my children is always there to some degree, but today more than anything I feel completely FRUSTRATED. Helpless. I know where my sons are. I’ve known the address for almost a year. More than anything I want to just jump in my truck and go there. To finally see them, and hug them, and tell them I love them. But knowing their location is not the problem. Getting there is not the problem. There are actually two problems, and they are huge.

The first problem is the law. Restraining orders are handed out like candy, but they are enforced stronger than any law out there. The one issued on me was based on a pack of lies, but getting it removed seems impossible. Everything I’ve done in my life proves I’m not a violent person, but none of that matters. I’ve served my country in the military as a Medic, worked in a prison with ZERO uses of force for nearly ten years, subjected myself to psychological evaluations and taken several classes on parenting. But until the judge says it can come off, I cannot see, speak to, or write to my children, or I will go to jail.

The second problem is their own belief. The last time I spent any time with them, our relationship was great. They wanted to spend time with me. Aiden was sick and still insisted on coming with me. But after the retraining order, their mother started lying to them. Telling them I was dangerous, that I wanted to hurt them, that I’m a bad person, and they’re all better off without me. After years of hearing that, and only that, they believe her. What choice do they have? She’s their mother, and their only source of shelter, food, clothing, and information. When you hold that kind of power over someone, you can make them believe whatever you want, even the complete opposite of the truth.

I wish their mother loved them enough to share them with me. I know that they need their father in their lives, just as I need them in my life. I wish she could see that. I know she hates me, and I can live with that. But to manipulate my children into hating me is not just cruel to me. It’s cruel to them. To separate children from a loving parent is child abuse, pure and simple. And it’s also cruel to their sister, who misses them as much as I do. Aiden and Seth, if you ever get a chance to read this, please know that you mean everything to me, and I will NEVER stop fighting for you.